


Brand New Day

by acidpop25



Category: Avengers (Comic), Captain America, Captain America (2011), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, First Date, Gunplay, Peggy Carter is amazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-12
Updated: 2011-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-27 06:02:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidpop25/pseuds/acidpop25
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Steve's plane goes down, Peggy undergoes an experimental attempt to recreate the Super Soldier serum and winds up a superhero herself. Seventy years later, they find Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brand New Day

**1945**

“Are you sure about this?” Off Peggy’s narrow-eyed look, Howard throws his hands up defensively. “Right, just checking. I know you know the risks.”

“Quite.” Peggy shrugs out of her robe without bothering to worry about whether Howard is watching her, and once she’s down to her underthings she settles in the machine. “I’m aware we can’t be sure if the formula is the same or how it will affect me. I’m willing to risk it.”

Howard nods and begins pulling arms of machinery into place. “Not to mention the displeasure of your superiors. Injections starting in three... two... one.”

Peggy lets out a little hiss of breath as the serum is pushed into her muscles, needles and pressure all over her body, but she remains perfectly still. When it’s done, Howard closes up the machine around her and goes to the controls.

“Ready, Agent Carter?”

“Yes.”

He turns the dial, climbing slowly up to full power. Peggy doesn’t scream or cry out during the process like Steve had, even though Howard knows it must be painful if it’s working right, changing her body right down to the cells.

The machine comes open with a hiss, and when Peggy steps out she looks more or less the same. Maybe a little more muscle in her arms, but Howard isn’t sure– it’s not like he’s had a lot of opportunities to examine her bare arms.

“Did it do... anything?”

Peggy shrugs and pulls her robe back on. “We’ll run some tests and find out. Thank you for your help, Mr. Stark.”

Howard grins and throws her a lazy salute. “Anytime, Agent Carter.”

* * *

 **Present Day**

Steve is sitting in his room at SHIELD headquarters flipping despondently through a thick binder of information to get him up to date on the modern world, but he isn’t really focusing on it.

 _“I had a date.”_

 _A hint of a smile, a clap on the shoulder. “It’ll all work out, son.”_

It doesn’t feel like it.

The telephone rings, startling Steve out of his thoughts. “Hello?”

“Captain, there’s a visitor for you.”

“For me? That can’t be right.”

“I assure you, it is. Are you available?”

“Uh, sure.”

The agent on the other end of the line hangs up, and a few minutes later there’s a knock on his door. Steve gets up and crosses the small room to open it, and for the longest moment he’s sure he must be dreaming.

“Peggy?” he finally manages. She’s dressed in an unfamiliar style and her hair is loose instead of set in the familiar waves, but her face is the same and she still wears that red, red lipstick.

“Steve.” She takes a step forward, looking up at him with a soft, wondering expression on her face, and Steve does the only thing he can think to do: he wraps his arms around her and leans down for a kiss.

“We looked for you,” she tells him, “for years and years. I can’t believe you survived.”

“They said it was because of the serum. But you, you’re– they said it’s been almost seventy years, and you look just like I remember you.”

“Yes. It’s rather a long story– the short version is that you’re not the only superhero around here.”

“We’ve waited so long. Tell me it all.”

Peggy smiles up at him and takes a seat in the room’s lone chair. “All right.”

* * *

 **1945**

“That shot should have killed you. What do you mean, you’re _fine?_ ” Howard demands, hurrying to keep up with Peggy as she strides down the hall.

“I mean I’m fine,” she says dryly.

“But how–”

“Mr. Stark,” she interrupts crisply, “tell me, can you think of any reason why I might be able to survive injuries others couldn’t?”

His eyes widen. “Oh.”

“Yes, _oh_ ,” she repeats. “I seem to have developed a healing factor.”

“So the serum did work.”

“For a certain definition of working, yes,” Peggy agrees. “It didn’t affect me the same way that– that it did Steve, but that formula was lost.”

“I want to talk to the scientific team. Excuse me.”

He was off before she could even answer.

* * *

 **Present Day**

“So here I am,” Peggy concludes. “The healing factor keeps me from aging. My reflexes are faster than normal, as well, and my senses are sharper, though I had to learn to tune into that.”

“I’m amazed Colonel Phillips let you do it.”

“Oh, he didn’t.” Peggy’s lips curl in amusement. “Howard wasn’t fool enough to refuse me when I had myself set on a course of action, though.”

“No one is that big a fool.”

“You’d be surprised.” She falls silent, just looking at him, and Steve returns her gaze.

“It’s so good to see you,” Peggy finally says, voice scarcely more than a whisper. “I waited and waited. I’ve fought two wars since we lost you, and I just kept thinking, if only Steve were here.”

Steve blinks back a sudden swell of tears. “I know you told me not to be late,” he says, “but you did promise me a dance.”

Peggy lets out a choked, teary laugh. “I did. God, Steve.” Then they’re both crying, and Peggy gets up and hugs him tight as she can, lets Steve hide his face in her hair until they both can get themselves back under control after the onslaught of emotion eases.

“I’ve probably ruined my makeup,” Peggy murmurs, looking up with a self-deprecating little smile. Steve brushes away a tear still clinging to her cheek and answers, “You look beautiful.”

* * *

“Seriously. _Captain America?_ ”

“He prefers Steve, usually.”

Tony waves this off with an impatient hand. “Right, but. _The_ Captain America.”

“You’re behaving like a teenage girl, Tony,” Peggy informs him mildly.

Tony rolls his eyes. “I spent my whole life hearing you and dad talk about how amazing the guy was, what do you want from me? Frankly sometimes I think he was as in love with him as you were. Are.”

Peggy chuckles. “Howard was very fond of him.”

“Is it– it must be weird, having him back.”

She nods. “I lost hope a long time ago, so to see him again is– well, it’s wonderful. But very strange, yes.”

“I bet.”

“Fury wants him on the Avengers with us.”

“Obviously,” Tony agrees, fidgeting with the smartphone in his hands. “Are you okay with that, or is it gonna be weird?”

Peggy laughs. “It won’t be the first time I’ve been Steve’s commanding officer.”

* * *

Steve has read all the personnel files, but it’s still unsettling to find himself face to face with Howard’s son. Tony moves with the same cocky insouciance, and he looks so very like Howard. He’s wearing a red and gold armor that makes him look like some sort of robot save that his helmet is off. Fury introduces Steve to him and the rest of the group assembled around the table– “I believe you already know Warpath,” he’d said dryly when he got to Peggy, then had started in on regulations and various practical considerations. Steve listens, but it’s Peggy he’s looking at, mostly. She’s dressed in a catsuit of olive green leather that looks similar to the one Black Widow is wearing, but Peggy has guns strapped at her sides and a brown leather jacket he thinks he remembers her wearing during the war. Or one very like it, at least, since that was an awfully long time ago for Peggy. It’s still strange to Steve to see women in such revealing clothing, and her in particular. Everything is strange.

“Steve,” Peggy calls out as the meeting is breaking up, “come down to the training room with us.”

“Who’s us?”

“Myself and Natasha.”

There’s a bark of laughter from just behind him– Tony. “Not planning to break him in gently, then.”

“He’s still in fighting shape,” Peggy answers, and Tony grins and slings an arm over each of the women’s shoulders. Natasha removes it with a scowl, but Peggy doesn’t bother. “You’re welcome to join.”

“And have little miss assassin here strangle me with her thighs? Actually, sure, could be fun.”

“Spy,” Natasha corrects, sounding bored, “I was a spy, not an assassin.”

“So you say.”

She arches an eyebrow at him. “I’ll be happy to start with you, Stark, if you’re so keen on the idea.”

“Ladies,” Peggy reproves, but Steve can tell she’s trying not to smile. When they get to the training room, the women both set about removing an improbable amount of weapons from their persons and Tony snickers at the look on Steve’s face.

“They like their weapons, those two.”

“Fury said we weren’t to use lethal force if it could be avoided.”

“Well, most of Warpath’s guns don’t shoot bullets,” Tony replies, and starts stripping off his armor. “I designed most of her armory. Black Widow, well... she likes sharp objects, but those aren’t _necessarily_ lethal.” He looks a little shifty as he says that, though, and Steve decides that maybe he doesn’t really want to know. He watches Peggy and Natasha instead as they strike and weave on the mats. Their movements speak of long practice and of familiarity with each other; Peggy eventually comes out literally on top, pinning Natasha into a painful-looking position, but Steve has the sense it could easily have gone the other way.

“Come on, Stark,” Natasha calls, springing to her feet when Peggy lets up. Tony grins at her as they move off to the second set of mats, and Steve joins Peggy.

“Well, soldier?”

“I’ve never seen you fight hand-to-hand.”

Her lips quirk at the corner. “Well, now you can experience it.”

They circle; she’s lighter and not as strong, but she’s fast and has decades of experience on him. Steve’s not sure he likes his odds, in all honesty.

She certainly doesn’t pull her punches, that much is clear with the first strike she lands right to the ribs. It knocks him back with a wheeze but isn’t near enough to bring him down; Steve presses forward, relying on his longer reach to get in close. Peggy is too quick to take more than glancing blows, though, and what her arms can’t reach her legs still can. Steve is distantly aware of voices as he and Peggy trade attacks, but he can’t be thinking about the others watching right now. His focus narrows in to Peggy, to her strikes and feints.

He hears a whistle as he hits the mat– Steve struggles, but Peggy has him trapped. Natasha is smirking at them, and Tony seems caught between amusement and sympathy.

“Not bad, Captain,” Peggy says, and offers him her hand.

* * *

“Stark said these guns don’t shoot bullets,” Steve says, turning over one of Peggy’s guns in his hands. It _looks_ more or less like a small revolver– it reminds him of the one she used to carry.

“They don’t, mostly. That one is an energy pistol. Here,” she holds out a hand, and Steve passes it over. Peggy twists a discrete dial, then pulls the trigger without warning. The edge of the charge just grazes his hand with a sharp, prickly feeling.

“That’s the lowest setting, barely a sting. Usually it’s set to knock an enemy unconscious.”

Steve blinks at her. “You just _shot_ at me.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time, now would it?” Peggy retorts, and Steve lets out a startled laugh.

“I guess not. At least this time it wasn’t real bullets.”

She grins. “You think I’m going soft in my old age?”

“After going a round with you in the training room, I think I can safely say that’s the last thing I think.” Steve shuffles a little. “Listen, I wanted to ask if you would like to– that is, I don’t know how courting works in this century, but I’d like us to maybe... do that. Uh. If you still want.”

“I very much still want. You may take me out to dinner on Friday, if you like.”

Steve practically lights up. “Friday,” he agrees, “I’d love to.”

* * *

“What have I gotten myself into,” Steve mutters mostly to himself as Tony makes reservations for him at a place he’s ‘sure Peggy will love’ rather than let Steve agonize over decisions. “Should I bring her flowers? Do guys still do that?”

“Sometimes. Besides, I think she expects old-fashioned sensibilities from you.” Tony looks amused. “Relax, Cap, she waited seventy years for you, I think it’s safe to say she’s interested.”

“You seem like you know her pretty well.”

“Well, she’s been around my whole life,” Tony says with a shrug.

“We both knew your dad,” Steve supplies, and Tony frowns a little but nods.

“Yeah, I know. He talked about you a lot. Never stopped looking for your plane, you know.”

“I– no, I didn’t.”

Tony nods. “And he was the one who helped Peggy go through with the treatments that gave her the healing ability, during the war, then made weapons for her, after. Now I do that.”

“She shot me with one the other day.”

Tony laughs. “Don’t tell me, she was demonstrating one of the guns.”

Steve nods, and Tony claps him on the back and gets to his feet. “I’m pretty sure that kind of thing is her idea of foreplay. You’re gonna be fine.”

* * *

Peggy’s eyebrows nearly reach her hairline. “Fondue?”

He should _never_ have asked Stark for help. Steve blushes furiously and stares at the sidewalk. “Um, well, Tony said you’d like it, he didn’t tell me it was, uh.”

“Ah. Well, he’s heard that story more than once. Are these for me?”

“What? Oh! Yes, yes they are. Here.” Steve hands over the small bouquet he’d brought for her, and Peggy bends her head and breathes in the scent of the flowers.

“They’re lovely. Shall we?” She takes his arm as they walk inside and lets Steve pull out her chair. The restaurant is dim and quiet, and Peggy is catching him up on what he’s missed of her life when there is an almighty crash from the front of the restaurant. Peggy cusses and yanks her purse open as Steve pulls his shield out of its carrying case, glad now that he’d been paranoid enough to bring it. The patrons are screaming and running as four enormous men begin trashing the building with fists and a crowbar, and Peggy punches an alert into her phone to call the others then advances with a gun in each hand.

“Avenger,” one growls, and Peggy stands her ground and shoots him square between the eyes as he charges at her.

“A little help here, Captain!” Peggy shouts, and so Steve aims his shield and throws.

“This is the cutest first date I’ve ever seen,” Clint says when he arrives on the scene some five minutes later to find Steve and Peggy back-to-back with their weapons of choice.

“Shut up and shoot people, Hawkeye.”

Iron Man and Black Widow arrive shortly thereafter, and between the five of them taking down the Wrecking Crew isn’t too bad– Steve and Peggy probably could have managed on their own if they’d had to, but with a team it’s much easier. SHIELD agents show up just as Peggy knocks out the last of them, and Steve stares after her for a moment as she flips the safety on one of her guns and stows it somewhere in her jacket. She really, _really_ knows what she’s doing with her weapons, and in retrospect Steve is inappropriately turned on by her swift assurance in the fight. He’s pretty sure that’s weird.

“I guess we’re not getting dinner after all,” he says, and Clint hops down from the ledge he’d been perched on and gives Steve a manly sort of pat on the back.

“We’ll pick up Chinese on the way back,” he says, “though you’re out of luck if you had your heart set on fondue.”

Nearby, Steve can hear mechanically altered laughter. “But–”

“I can’t tell you how many of my dates have gone like this, man,” Clint continues, “at least Peggy doesn’t need protecting.”

“You get dates, Hawkeye?” Natasha interjects skeptically, to Clint’s indignant protests. Steve sighs.

“Want a lift back, Cap?” Iron Man offers, holding out an arm. Peggy is getting into Natasha’s car and Steve’s not entirely sure he’ll be welcome there, so...

“Yeah, sure, why not.”

* * *

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Peggy says, crisp and almost businesslike. The others have already scattered; Steve is still picking at his noodles. “You look like someone kicked your dog.”

“I just...” Steve heaves a sigh. “I just wanted us to have a good night. It took us so long to get here, I wanted it to be worth it.”

“Steven,” Peggy replies, sounding exasperated, and swipes his carton of food away and stows it in the fridge. “Stop moping, soldier. I’m not upset.”

“You’re not?”

“I told you, it isn’t your fault. And you were right there with me, fighting. That’s the sort of partner I want.”

Steve smiles a little. “You were good out there. Amazing, really. You’re so...” he trails off, and Peggy tilts her head and looks up at him.

“Steven Rogers,” she says, “I would very much like you to take me to bed.”

Steve immediately blushes bright pink. “I, ah. You don’t think it’s a little... soon?”

“I think seventy years is quite a long enough wait.” Peggy holds out a hand and Steve takes it, letting her lead him back to his room and lock the door behind them.

Peggy kisses with a certain fierceness, the same way she does everything, and unlike the times before there’s intent behind this one as she walks Steve back to the bed. She has to lean up to reach him and loop her arms around his neck, her body a taut line of muscle stretched against him. It’s a nice feeling but can’t be very comfortable for her, so after a minute Steve sits down. Peggy climbs on to his lap without hesitation and pushes him down flat on his back. Steve’s hands find the edge of her blouse, then pause. “May I?”

“Please do.” She sits back enough to let him pull it over her head, revealing scarlet lace the same color as her lipstick.

“You like red, don’t you,” Steve murmurs, tracing the edge with a fingertip.

“I look good in it.”

“No arguments,” he agrees faintly, and Peggy smiles and peels him out of his clothes, not stopping at his shirt.

“Hang on, I’ve still got–” she squirms a bit and reaches behind her, tugging the pistol out of its hiding place at the small of her back and moving to set it aside. Steve swallows hard.

“Can you keep it?” he blurts out before his brain gets a chance to stop the words. Peggy arches a brow at him, but her expression isn’t upset or judgemental.

“Why Steve, I had no idea,” she says, but sets the gun down on the bed next to them instead. He flushes.

“Neither did I, until you,” he admits, and something in her eyes goes soft.

“Are you going to take the rest of my clothes off, or do I have to do everything around here?”

Steve tightens his hold on her and rolls them over, bracing himself above her. “I’m getting there.” He takes his time touching her first, though, running his hands along her sides, cupping her breasts carefully. Peggy makes an impatient, wanting sort of sound, and Steve takes that as permission to unzip her slacks and slide them down her legs– she kicks them impatiently aside and hooks one leg around his waist, uses it to pull him right up against her. They’re separated only by his briefs and the scrap of lace passing for her underwear; he can _feel_ the soft heat of her, and it draws a groan from him.

“Mmm,” Peggy murmurs, rolling her hips up against him. Steve is too distracted to notice when she reaches a hand out to the side, but he definitely _does_ notice the cold metal press of her pistol to the side of his neck.

“Peggy,” he chokes out, and she pushes him over and on to his back. Her free hand goes behind her and unclasps her bra, and an involuntary little moan escapes Steve when she shrugs it off– Peggy looks like every guilty fantasy and then some, sitting practically naked astride him.

“I liked you before the treatment, you know,” she says, almost conversationally, “but after, my God, Steve. Your body.” She drags a hand down his chest; the muscles twitch under her touch, and she hooks her fingers into the waistband of his underwear. “Tell me, did everything grow?”

Steve forces down his instinctive embarrassment and answers, “You can find out for yourself.” Peggy grins wickedly at him and does just that, pulls his briefs off and just _looks_ for a long moment.

“I’m guessing yes,” she says, then wraps a hand around his cock and gives him a long, slow stroke.

“Peggy,” he says– whimpers, really, begging her for more, for anything. Peggy trails the muzzle of the pistol up his chest and over his cheek, and Steve can feel his heart rate jump higher still. On impulse, he turns his head and brushes his lips against the gun, and Peggy makes a little noise in the back of her throat and brings it to his mouth. Steve licks at the cold metal, kisses it again, lets her slide it past his lips to touch the roof of his mouth, sure that she would never really hurt him but his body on fire with the danger and transgression all the same.

“Touch me,” Peggy commands in a husky whisper. She shifts a little to make it easier for him to reach and doesn’t move the pistol as Steve obeys. Her breasts first, squeezing gently and running his fingers over the nipples until they pebble and she shivers, then trailing down, down, nervous but wanting, wanting so _much_. He tugs her panties down– there’s a brief moment of awkward shimmying on her part to get them off without moving her right hand– then slides a hand between her legs. She’s wet and hot to the touch, much more so than the rest of her skin, and she makes wonderful soft noises as he touches her, learning what makes her feel good by her noises and the way her muscles tense. Peggy’s head falls back, baring her pale throat, the line of her jaw; Steve aches to kiss, to bite, to taste the skin there, but Peggy clearly has no intention of letting him move yet.

“Stay where you are,” Peggy finally says, and climbs off the bed to rustle in the pockets of her discarded pants until she finds a small square packet and tears it open. “They’re better than they were in our day,” she remarks as she rolls the condom down on him. The pistol has been set aside somewhere, leaving Peggy with both hands free to brace herself as she sinks slowly down on his cock. Steve moans helplessly at the rush of sensation and grabs hold of Peggy’s hips to ground himself. She winces a little as she settles, but shakes off Steve’s look of concern.

“You’re a stretch,” she says by way of explanation. “I’ll loosen up, I’m fine.” As if to prove it, or maybe just to force Steve to stop thinking, she gives a roll of her hips that makes Steve forget how to breathe, then leans down and kisses him as she keeps moving. Her breath comes fast whenever they break for air, and Steve gets his chance to duck his head and kiss along her jaw and down her neck– it draws a low moan for Peggy and makes her move faster. She’s flushed and beautiful, her hair wild around her face and her short nails digging into his shoulders as she rides him. It’s heady, overwhelming, all his senses taken over by her.

“ _Steve_ ,” she gasps, and her body clenches up even tighter around him. She’s trembling, skin slick with sweat, and Steve kisses her desperately.

“Peggy, I’m, I’m close.”

“Yeah,” she answers breathlessly, “come on, Steve.” A familiar press of metal, right under his jaw. “Do it.”

He comes with a cry, arching up into her with his whole body tense before melting back into the mattress with a quiet groan. Peggy smiles at him and moves away, gets up and gets rid of the condom before returning to the bed and curling up against his side. Her pistol had been moved to the nightstand at some point while Steve was still too dazed to notice.

“Was that... did you like it?”

“Oh yes,” Peggy answers on a sigh. She settles her head on his shoulder, and Steve wraps an arm around her and kisses the top of her head.

“I’m glad.”

“Mm. Go to sleep, Steve. I’ll be here in the morning.”

He hugs her a little tighter. “I want you to be here every morning.”

Steve feels rather than sees Peggy’s smile. “I will be.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to stardustcities for the encouragement and look-over.


End file.
